All the White Horses
by Cerulean1
Summary: Life is but a collection of changes, and is all too fleeting.  Like seasons, our lives drift past us giving us little time to reflect.  Bitesize Bones comment fic.


_Author's note: This was written for the Bitesize_bones "Heavenly Hiatus" comment fic meme. The prompt was "Booth and Brennan enjoy that cherry tree they talked about planting" from serendipity, and this is a very very loose interpretation of that, in as much as I think they'd enjoy their daughter enjoying the tree. The title comes from a song called "Winter" by Tori Amos, but has absolutely nothing to do with the fic beyond the story of a child growing up. This is unedited, and unchecked, so please excuse any grammar issues._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing in this, Bones and all related characters and locations are the property of 20th Century Fox, Hart Hanson, Kathy Reichs and possibly her publisher, and will be returned unharmed. No trees were hurt in the making of this fic._

**SPRING**

A girl, about six, sits in the shade of of a cherry tree. The spring air floats around her as she pokes a finger in the grass, crushing a cherry petal to mush. She sees her mother on the porch, a computer open on her lap.

From the corner of her eye she spots something shining in the dirt. With the energy known only to the young she scoots across to the object of her attention and reaches down to pick it up. It's mostly buried, and the girl hesitates before digging it out.

The day before, her friend Amanda had invited her over, and they'd made an afternoon of attempting to dig to China. The girl knew it wasn't possible to dig to China, at least not by digging straight down, but the attempt had been fun. Until Amanda's mother had found them. They'd been covered in dirt and grass stains and the young mother had been beside herself in anger. She'd called the girl's mother, and the car ride home had been in silence.

She hadn't gotten in trouble. The incident hadn't been spoken about. If she'd had to guess she'd have said that her mother was more mad at Amanda's mother than at her, but it was best not to push too far where mothers were concerned. She pulls her hand back and scoots back against the tree.

Suddenly, her mother is on the grass beside her. "What did you find, sweetheart?"

"A rock," the girl replies, biting her lip.

"Why don't you get it out? Come on, I'll help."

They move together over to where the shiny bit of stone protrudes from the ground. The girl reaches down to pry it free with her fingers but a gentle touch on her hand stops her. "No. When you want to dig something out, you want to know where you found it. And what was around it. Those things tell you about what it is you're digging up."

"Like when you go to...that place daddy can't say?"

Her mother laughs, "Yes, like that." She pulls out some popsicle sticks, a ball of twine and the spade that had been sitting waiting for the vegetable garden to be finished for three years. "You want to set up a grid, and then you'll know exactly what came from where."

She hands the sticks to the girl, and together they go about laying out a grid on the small area under the cherry tree. They are alike these two, more so than either will admit. And in this one moment, under the tree that was planted the day the girl was born, they both teach each other exactly how alike they are.

**SUMMER**

A young woman, in her early 20s, sits under a cherry tree. Her white shirt is dappled in light as the summer sun filters through the leaves. She breathes in the summer air, wishing never to leave. But her life is just beginning and there is a world out there to be discovered. Law school waits just a few weeks away, but for the moment she revels in her last responsibility free summer at home. She spies her mother working on the vegetable garden her father had said he'd plant and never did.

Of her father she sees nothing until a glass of lemonade appears in front of her. She pushes the oversize sunglasses up on her nose and accepts the glass with a smile.

"Hey, Dad," she mumbles, not meeting his gaze. They'd had a hard time these last few years, her youthful rebellion being taken out on her father more than her mother.

"Hey. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I like it here," she says, leaning against the trunk of the tree. This was her spot. Since a child she'd been most at home under this tree, her tree. They shared a birthday, kind of. When she'd been little her parents had occasionally joined her on the ground to play, but as she'd grown older so had they, and her father had brought over a couple of lawn chairs. He settles down in one, and gestures to the other. She stretches and joins him. "It's calming. I don't want to leave."

Her father grunts, "Then don't. It's not so far away you can't commute. Or you could not become a lawyer."

"You're just mad I said I was thinking of becoming a defense attorney, Dad. But that's not a sure thing. I've got enough people breathing down my neck that it might be unwise to continue down that path." She laughs, it feels good.

"Don't let me, or your mom, or anyone else tell you what to do with your life. It's yours, not ours. And if you want to put the guys I catch back on the street, well, I suppose that's your business."

She looks at him, thankful. She had never really been serious about being a defense attorney. That was just foolishness for the child of an FBI agent and a forensic anthropologist. But she was young, she was supposed to rebel. Her father smiles at her, then leans back with a sigh.

They sit like that, in a comfortable silence, as the shadows began to lengthen. Her mother gets up, knees cracking, and goes to the kitchen. They watch her. They say nothing. They are happy.

**AUTUMN**

A middle-aged woman, a small child on her hip, stands beneath a cherry tree. The purple leaves of the tree above her remind her of a childhood that was as close to perfect as it was possible to get outside of a storybook. It was the sort of life she wants for her child, but already that hasn't turned out quite as she planned.

The ink wasn't even dry on the divorce papers. Her new job, with a local attoney's office, was just one more ear infection away from being her 'previous' job. The child in her arms squirms, and she puts him down on the ground. He takes shaky steps around her before landing on his rear and whimpering. She doesn't pick him back up.

"I can't accept this. It's too much."

"You can, and you will," her mother says, handing her a cup of coffee. She picks the boy up from the grass. He buries his face into his grandmothers neck, and sighs.

"We're both getting too old for all this cold, it's not even Halloween yet," her father says, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Going some place warm will do these old bones good."

Her mother gives her father a look, but says nothing. Age, and a grown daughter, have tempered her, but they all know she's correcting him. If silentlly.

"I can't take your house!"

"It's your house as much as ours," her mother says.

"It's too big for us," her father adds.

And they smile. And she knows she can't say no. They'd leave anyway, and this way she can give her son something. He deserves all she can give him. She nods, and with a sign reaches for her boy.

"Just make sure you remember to invite us for Thanksgiving," her father says as they move back toward the house. Like she could forget.

**WINTER**

An elderly woman, 100 today, sits on an old rocker beneath a bare cherry tree. Snow covers the ground, and she's bundled up beneath layers of blankets and coats and she's not entirely sure what else. It's the middle of January, and her great grandchildren, all grown and a couple with children of their own, hover about her.

They're speaking, but she's been deaf for a couple of years now. She can still see fine though, and read lips after a fashion, and she knows they think she shouldn't be out here. But she turned 100 today, and if she wants to sit under her cherry tree she will. The tree has been her life long companion. The only living thing in her life that remembers the girl in pigtails. Or the young woman trying to decide on her future for that matter.

She and the tree have outlived her own children, and a couple of her grandchildren. Her parents had told her the tree would probably die before she got back from college. But there it had been. Then they'd said it would die before her son was grown. But still it had stayed. And now, it was 2112, and had been for a couple of weeks, point of fact, and she and the tree were still there.

Well, the tree was.

With a groan, she stands, and with shaky legs hobbles to the door. This is her house. She'd tried to give it to her elder son, the way her parents had given it to her, but he wouldn't take it. She'd tried to give it to her younger son the child of a much happier marriage, but he'd just laughed, and moved in across the street. They'd both passed on a couple of years before, in their eighties, life fulfilled.

She climbs the stairs, pausing, to catch her breath, though if anyone had asked she'd have said she was looking at the family pictures on the wall. Her parents, smiling, her big brother beside them, her tiny baby form tucked in her mothers arms. The four of them, at Disney World, at the beach. Then, when her brother had gotten older, the three of them, at Ceder Point, at Martha's Vineyard with friends. And scattered throughout the 8x10s on the wall the progression of their life under the tree. And then life with her boys, her second husband. And always the tree.

She slips under the blankets of her bed. Her parents old room, not hers. The room she'd grown up in had long ago been converted to first her sons' room, and then an office.

She lays her head back against the pillow and closes her eyes.

She knows her family will be up in a moment. She wonders if they'll be upset.

And then she is at peace.

And outside, grows a cherry tree.


End file.
